


Cats, Canaries, Camaraderie

by AmericanAffair, Pop_Rocks_And_Skittles



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Ageplay, DDLG, F/M, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmericanAffair/pseuds/AmericanAffair, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pop_Rocks_And_Skittles/pseuds/Pop_Rocks_And_Skittles
Summary: “This team, our team, we’re a family. We look out for one another. We care about one another,” he began slowly, maintaining a confident level of eye contact. Reid was looking away, taking short nervous sips from his scotch. “Sometimes, our family dynamic can almost be. Unending. Something that surpasses our work hours, maybe because our work often surpasses work hours. This unique career and bond defines us. But surely, you already knew all of those things?” Hotchner cocked an eyebrow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I used to write for a very different community, and gave up writing for about 4 years due to an inspiration drought. But I’m back, baby! With a brand new attitude (sort of) and brand new ideas and I’m hella stoked on all of it! I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed the cathardicism of writing it, this fic has pulled me out of a life rut I didn’t know I was having until I started writing it. Sorry, I talk a lot when I get excited, and I’m very excited to finally post this. AmericanAffair loves having the pleasure to pleasure you, please comment for continued dirtiness. Especially comment or contact me if you have ideas for things you’d like to see in the future! I have a bunch of this written, but I’m diggin’ it so the more inspiration you can throw my way, the more I’ll run with. Lastly, even if you don’t love me, just know that I love you. In a platonic way. And in a romantic way. You vibe?
> 
> This was beta'd and encouraged by the mindbogglingly awesome lovely Pop_Rocks_and_Skittles, who I feel deserves more credit than I do because she puts up with all my insane rambling and nonsense and somehow is able to coerce my brain into spitting out words, and she reminded me what I loved so much about writing fanfic in the first place.

There was a peculiar form of camaraderie shared by the agents at the BAU. Varying greatly even from each interpersonal relationship. Those were the initial pieces of the puzzle you had mentally catalogued and dissected. Second was tone of voice, choice of words, dialect, and applying them to better understanding character and individual speakers emotions supporting changes in inflection or verbiage. You have never been particularly good at understanding body language or social cues when compared to peers, these were the critical tools you’ve instead learned to use to replace the things your brain doesn’t comprehend well. And they served you ultimately quite well. Well enough to land an internship  at the acclaimed, adored, nearing utter mythological level of greatness: Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI.

To quickly explain your current position within the unit: a fairly generic pencil pusher. Fill out the paperwork while the team works, file the important files, field the phonecalls. Long days spent doing mundane cleaning, refilling, and asking for permission before entering seemingly important rooms. All hopefully to one day be a bona-fide profiler, but as of yet you’re being painfully taunted and tormented by the dream job of a lifetime. Like a chastity belt, with time and luck serving the key.

“Oh, my apologies,” you half squeaked and half mumbled, fumbling with a cup of coffee in the breakroom. Without looking up, you could recognise the shoes of Spencer Reid being the misfortunate feet with whom you’d nearly tangled.

“It’s okay,” His voice sounded upbeat, and you dared cast a glance upwards from the tile grout which your eyes had been pinned on. Peering up into his big eyes from behind your  thick bangs, you flashed a quick smile, and was more than pleased to be greeted by a wide one from the boy genius himself. “Did you know that caffeine is metabolised by women faster than men?” He mused after an awkward pause was shared between both of you.

“No,” you murmured, now smiling down into the paper cup filled with black coffee, then shooting your eyes back upwards to once again lock with his. Spencer’s reaction shifted from obvious self enjoyment - he liked supplying facts and was particularly fond of a receptive audience - to surprise as you began to speak. “But I do know caffeine is widely considered the most socially acceptable drug, and simultaneously not recognised as a drug by most of its users. At least, not a so called  _ real _ drug.” 

“I knew that,” Spencer was smiling even wider now, and his response made you emit a soft laugh. “It’s always nice to hear things again though. Repeating and reinforcing information you want to retain in long-term memory is a necessity. Not that I’m particularly concerned with my long or short term memory,” he added the last bit quickly, you recognised the change in inflection -  _ regret? _ \- but his smile remained, despite seeming a hair less genuine. 

“I figured you would,” you giggled more, and then noticed the presence of Emily Prentiss in the room. “Oh, hi ma’am!” You waved at her quickly, then booked it out from the room and down the hall to your desk, away from their main bullpen and workstations.

“Did she just call me ma’am?” Emily whirled around and looked at Spencer, a playful look in her eyes.

Spencer, for once, remained silent. Sipping his half sugar half coffee concoction with a sly grin.

“You, Doctor Reid, look like the cat that ate the canary,” Emily commented, fixing her  cup and resting an elbow on the counter to lean.

“I suppose,” he elongated his vowels as he spoke. “If you’re referring to the commonly used idiom, although I don’t think I look particularly smug.”

“More the bit about hiding something mischievous,” Emily chuckled. Spencer saw her eyes dart towards his zipper and then back up to his eyes.

In true fashion, this caused Doctor Reid to partially choke on his coffee, look down at his own fly, and exit the room in a blushing huff to the theme track of Agent Prentiss’ laughter.

 

Your kitten heels clicked across the tile hallway, finally coming to a halt in front of Agent SSA Hotchner’s door. Peeking in through the blinds on the side of his door, you could see that he was sat alone in his office, diligently writing something.

Ever since you started working at the BAU, you greatly admired Agent Hotchner. His 

serious demeanour, unreadable expression, hard work, pure dedication, and powerful leadership… everything about the man left you in absolute awe. You wanted nothing more than to work under him. 

_ Under Agent Hotchner…  _

You blushed at your own thought, instantly mad at your hormonal body that was incapable of controlling itself. He’s in charge of you! 

_ What if he was really in charge of you… _

Exhaling quickly, blowing strands of hair out of your face, and standing up straight, you fearlessly knocked on his door. “SSA Hotchner?” 

“Yes?” He looked up at you from the desk, which you took as an invitation to step further into the stereotypical cop flick office. Dark, vaguely dingy. Dark mahogany shelves, darker mahogany desk. That green glass lamp with the gold base and single chain. Blinds pulled down but cracked so just enough sunlight was emitted to see particles of dust hanging in the air.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, I just need for you to sign these authorization forms,” your voice sounded somewhat meek, certainly tinged with nerves. There was something about the man, something you couldn’t put a finger on, that had your entire body on the edge. Like when you were a little kid, playing with Roman firecrackers with your cousins, despite being well aware of the countless horror stories involving the very act and blown apart fingers. Maybe that was a bad analogy…

“Oh, absolutely,” he temporarily placed the form he’d been filing out to the side, making room for your handful. The room was silent aside from the sharp drag of his pen on the paper, swooping letters and neat little vowels stringing together his name in a flourish of the wrist.

“Thank you, sir,” you collected the papers after he had signed them and turned to exit the room, when you heard the clatter of his pen onto the floor. It rolled in your direction, landing nearly abutted to the pointed toe tip of your shoe.

“Would you mind? So sorry,” he spoke somewhat softly.

Without thinking, you bent down at the waist, your pencil skirt riding up and cinching tightly around your shapely form. As you stood up, a sudden flood of mortification rushed through your brain, realising how intentionally sexual that entire little performance was. A solid 80% of you prayed he didn’t notice. An alarming 20% of you prayed he acted upon it. 

_ I really need to get my lizard brain in check, _ you thought to yourself, taking a couple steps back to place the pen delicately on the desk in front of Agent Hotchner, who was now staring at you. You were very unsure if it was a good stare or a bad stare. Probably a bad stare.

“Thank you again for signing these, sir, if there’s anything I can get or do for you-”

“I might be able to think of something,” Hotchner cut you off. “Finish that paperwork though. Actually, finish  _ all  _ your paperwork. Whatever needs to be done. Come to my office after, there are some important things I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Sir, all the paperwork will easily take me until 8 or 9pm,” you began to speak but trailed off towards the end.

“Are you complaining? Maybe my request would be better suited elsewhere,” Hotchner looked down, ready to resume whatever work you had earlier interrupted.

“No! No sir! I meant,” you cleared your throat and tried to stand up straighter. “I meant, if I finish all the work and stay until 8 or 9pm, won’t everyone be gone?” 

“Everyone else will be, yes. Doctor Reid and I already planned on working late tonight. See you then,” came his parting words, which you recognised as an order to head for the door.

The walk back to your desk had your mind reeling, trying to decipher what on earth Agent Hotchner and Doctor Reid could possibly want with or from you. The BAU had yet to call upon you in any context for aid as a profiler, despite your extensive research. 

_ Maybe they just need an audience to test a new idea out on? Someone to bounce concepts off of that is one step removed from their world? _ It sounded likely. Unsatisfying, but likely. 

The rest of your workday came and went, dragged on by the extensive paperwork you had to read, stamp, scan, and retype as a double confirmation in its entirety in the computer. You’d never been more grateful to be gifted with the skill of being a fast keyboardist. Bless all those fifth grade typing classes.

True to his word, by the time all your work was completed, everyone else on the floor was gone. It was a Friday night, after all. Not that you had plans, work was your only plans ever. There wasn’t time for a dual active social life and a good career as far as you had ever been concerned. The only sound coming from around you was soft laughter and talking, accompanied by the warm glow of Hotchner’s stereotype desk lamp.

You keyed in the last word and hit submit, taking your box of now completed paperwork from the floor and placing it on the side of your desk where you would grab and replace it come morning. Digitising old cases was such a treat, really, how lucky could one girl be?

“Agent Hotchner, you told me to come by now?” You pushed his door open, it had already been left ajar, and stepped into the office.

You were more than surprised to see Hotchner and Reid sat on opposing sides of his desk, sipping two glasses of a presumably expensive scotch. The bottle sat on the cart across the room, next to a small bucket of ice. 

_ I am suddenly far less sure they want a test audience… _ your voice echoed through your head. What on earth could this be about?

“So nice you could join us,” Hotchner said, pointing to the chair opposite of Reid to instruct you to take a seat. 

“So nice to be invited,” you joked back, flashing a smile at both of them. 

Reid gave you a wide one in return, much like he had earlier with the whole coffee talk. There was a light dusting of pink across his cheeks and the tip of his nose that wasn’t present on Hotchner’s face, leading you to believe the younger man was slightly intoxicated.

“What are you celebrating?” You asked, nervously spinning a ring on your hand.

“A long overdue proposition, one we think you would make an absolutely excellent candidate for,” Reid said, extending his arm so his hand was wrapped around the arm of your chair.

“As Reid so eloquently put it, yes, we’d like for you to consider joining us in an… endeavour,” Hotchner began, taking a sip from his glass. “However, this would need to be 100% private. Classified. This is a career ruining, life ending offer. One that will, if you do not choose to accept, under absolutely no circumstances be discussed again. A single peep of this will result in immediate termination with no chance of ever reaquiring this level of government clearance. Do you understand the nature of this offer?” Hotchner asked, watching your body language like a hawk.

“Yes, sir, I understand what you’re saying. I just don’t understand what the offer is,” you responded, still nervously twisting the ring in circles around your finger and squirming slightly in the uncomfortable chair.

“You’ve shown a tremendously thorough and excellent level of workmanship in digitizing the old case files. You are quick, capable, and more than adept. These are all qualities that we look for from our interns when deciding who is worthy of promotion and potential to join our team. Something we don’t find often when tasking  _ younger _ , new hires,” Hotchner began, once again reaching to take a sip from his drink. 

Reid’s hand was still clasped around your chair, but he mimicked Hotchner’s motion and took another big sip.

“Thank you, sir. It’s truly been an honour to even make it this far,” you responded, feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected compliment and a mounting level of concern regarding what they could possibly be preparing to offer you. The team did not need another profiler, their combined talents and skills were seasoned. A fresh face and fresh eyes would do nothing but drag them down.

“You’re welcome. Now, as you may know, Agent Jareau recently announced her pregnancy. With that means she will, at some point in the near future, be taking a maternity leave from the bureau. We are prepared to offer you a position, one that would work directly below Agent Jareau. Her personal assistant. You’ll learn the tricks of her trade, how she identifies which cases we do and don’t work on, and her liaison techniques. J.J. is the best agent we could possibly have working between us and the media. So far, we aren’t entirely sure who will fill her role while she is gone. But having someone learn from her while still gaining experience in the bureau would be immensely helpful to our future, and the future of whoever fills her role when she is on leave,” Hotchner concluded the offer and looked at you with expectant eyes.

“Sir, I cannot possibly begin to thank you for even considering me in such a role. I’d. Absolutely, yes, love the opportunity and position,” you gushed quickly, nearly dumbfounded for a second. The offer initially sounded too good to be true, but then flooded you with pride that your abilities had actually gone noticed amongst the team. 

Hotchner then cracked a smile and nodded to Reid, who stood from his chair and walked over to the drink cart, carefully pouring you a glass of scotch. He returned, placing it delicately in front of you, and you took a few long sips while mulling the situation over in your head.

“I have a question, though, sir,” you spoke after a pleasant but pregnant silence overtook the three of you. 

“Yes?” Hotchner raised an eyebrow, setting down his glass. 

“If the position you’re offering me is to work directly below Agent Jareau, and please don’t take any offense to this, but why is Doctor Reid here? And why would me refuting the offer be potentially devastating?” 

“How very adept you are,” he complimented. Without any further notice, he knocked the rest of the glass in his hand back, drinking an easy 2 shots worth in one gulp. Hotchner didn’t make a face, but did stand, walking over to an obviously fake potted plant in the corner of his office. He knelt down slightly, moving away some of the leaves, and placed the upturned glass over a seemingly random spot at the base of the plant.

“Penelope was forced to bug the office by Strauss. Luckily, Strauss didn’t tell her when or who to avoid seeing her when she did it,” Reid winked, taking a sip of his own drink. At least, you think he was winking.

Hotchner returned to his chair, reclining in it slightly. You were surprised, Agent Hotchner did not strike you as the type to sit comfortably in any work setting or during a business conversation.

“This team, our team, we’re a family. We look out for one another. We care about one another,” he began slowly, maintaining a confident level of eye contact. Reid was looking away, taking short nervous sips from his scotch. “Sometimes, our family dynamic can almost be. Unending. Something that surpasses our work hours, maybe because our work often surpasses work hours. This unique career and bond defines us. But surely, you already knew all of those things?” Hotchner cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes sir, I’ve done my best to observe and understand the relationships between all the team members of the BAU,” you found yourself swallowing another mouthful of liquor and replacing the glass on his desk.

“As I had predicted. Well. Doctor Reid and I consider ourselves to have a, what some could argue, abnormal personal interaction with the overall family dynamic,” Hotchner spoke.

You tried to diagnose his words, but the culmination of euphoria and alcohol-induced haziness left you two sheets to the wind. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think I follow where you’re going with this?”

It was then that Reid piped up, turning first to give a glance to Hotchner to receive his approval, before focusing his attention on you. “When you spend all your time surrounded by a group of people, working with them in such close proximity. Are you surprised when I say that 43% of surveyed professionals are in casual relationships with coworkers?”

“Yes, but not because of the statistic. I. Is this. I’m sorry if earlier you thought I was trying to do something inappropriate, sir, I swear I didn’t mean to come across that way. I wasn’t thinking, this job means more to me than anything. Whatever you need me to do or want me to do, I’ll do,” the words fell from your mouth quickly, having another pass of the humiliation from earlier. Did Doctor Reid think you were coming onto him during the caffeine conversation? Or did Agent Hotchner think bending over to retrieve his pen was some unwarranted sexual advance?

Reid opened his mouth to speak, but Hotchner was faster with the response. “You are not in trouble, or jeopardy of termination,” he said.

Your nerves led the rim of the glass to being tipped against your lips, polishing off the drink. “Then what are we discussing?”

Reid stood up again, taking yours and his empty glasses to the cart and taking a third for Hotchner, filling them once more before returning to his seat.

“We are discussing something off the books, foremost,” he cast a glance to his previously placed bug barricade. “This job is incredibly stressful, having the ability to decompress and separate yourself from who you are while on the clock is integral to sanity and longevity in this field. But sometimes, the mind has an interesting way of wiring itself. Forming positive associations with negative ones.”

“This usually occurs in childhood and early adolescence, while the brain is still developing early connections and understandings of how the world around it works and where your association lies within. There’s another take regarding these sorts of developments in the brain overlap theory, which states how the region of the brain responsible for managing our sexual organs and impulses are located alongside the parts of the brain which control other appendages and emotions. In conjecture with long hours and a job filled with what most people would consider macabre, the mind has an interesting way of forging a light at the end of the tunnel,” Reid concluded.

You had been nodding along, trying to follow his line of logic. All this build up, all this discussion of propositions and pontifications, for what? To discuss the intertwining of sex and death? Were these agents making sure you didn’t show signs of necrophilia before officially promoting you to a corpse patrol agent?

“And what, then, is your light at the end of the tunnel?” You looked from him to Agent Hotchner, trying to feel the same level of confidence they seemed to think you possessed. It was a strange game of verbal poker, in which you recognised holding a winning hand, but did not know where your cards lay.

“We’ve founded a particularly gratifying source of release to come from participation in roleplaying,” Hotchner finally spoke. 

Your eyes widened, but you managed to keep your tone collected. “Based on Doctor Reid’s in-depth explanation, it’s safe to assume when you say roleplaying you mean. That which is done in a sexual context?”

“Correct,” he replied.

You held Hotchner’s gaze, unsure if he was going to say more, but he seemed to be almost enjoying watching you put the pieces together. “And, your proposition for me, the one that is off the books. Would be. Engaging in roleplaying. With. The both of you?”

“Spot on,” Reid complimented, and you saw in his eyes too this look of hunger. Desire to hear you untie the verbal knots of this conversation and redo the laces in a neat bow.

“Based on the pertinence you placed on the family dynamic, I’d make the safe assumption your roleplaying has something to do with that. Some sort of. Father, older brother dynamic. Missing. A younger sister?” You couldn’t explain the feeling, overwhelmed at the realisation of what they were asking you to take part in. Simultaneously, you had never been more shockingly turned on by anything in your entire life. And watching them watch you profile it’s entirety made you wonder how long and how closely they had you under their eye. From your first day? Were they waiting in the eves, hopeful you would prove yourself worthy of this game? Had they ever offered it to anyone else?

Based on the nature of this evening and the nature of the deal, you were highly doubtful this was something they had ever tested out before in any real world situation. Certainly a mutual desire they had agonised over mentally. Clearly already knowing how their roles would fit with one another, and what key piece was missing.

“Do you have any further questions?” Hotchner asked. You realised how quiet the room had become while your mind was swimming. And the empty glass in your hand.

“I know it isn’t, but. I’m compelled to ask. Is this some sort of hazing?” Your eyebrows were knit together in concentration, considering the risks and rewards of the offer. Really, though, it didn’t seem to pose any potential risk. Two high ranking profilers of the BAU offering you a once in a lifetime promotion coupled with a once in a lifetime, probably ongoing sexual relationship?

“The BAU does not participate in hazing,” Hotchner clarified. He was still so professional, like this conversation was no more or less business as usual. Despite it being so very far from such a thing. “If you’d like to accept our offer, you have 24 hours. This weekend, we’ll be staying in a safehouse. Reid already put in the request with Garcia, she sets these things up.”

“Does Garcia know?” You asked, suddenly horrified. Was everyone involved in this? Did it run deeper than just these two?

“No, no,” Hotchner actually chuckled and Reid laughed along with him. “Agent Garcia is unaware of our particular persuasion. She’s just the one who sets up the weekend getaways, redirects the cameras to show a different safehouse to any prying eyes. There’s been too many acts of violence against BAU members, we’ve agreed it's safer to engage in these acts with someone in a safehouse so they don’t know our real addresses. If anything goes wrong, Garcia can bring the cameras back up upon our request. And they go live once the scheduled time block is complete,” Hotchner clarified.

“I request them for us. Twice a month on average. Nearby locations so we’re close if the team needs us,” Reid added. 

“What happens if other agents need that safehouse while you’re there? Isn’t it suspicious to have it show up as being rented out but the cameras showing an empty set of rooms?” You asked. They seemed so confident but you still felt unsure about the ins and outs of this piece. Having kinky fun with your two drop-dead superiors was one thing. The FBI having that good time saved to a random hard drive like a ticking time bomb was not on your bucket list.

“It’s not particularly uncommon for the FBI to use a safehouse only the illusion of being lived in, especially if they feel the unsub is onto their intentions,” Hotchner assured.

“Okay,” you took a sharp inhale, “Yeah, okay,” you nodded, placing the once again empty glass on the table. You weren’t drunk but  _ damn _ was that some good scotch. A little liquid courage was really paving this conversational path.

“I’d prefer for you to agree to this under less afflicted circumstances,” Hotchner said, but now he was smiling, which made you feel a warmth from way low in your belly creep upwards and break your face out into a wide grin. Spencer wore a similar dopey expression.

“Fair,” you agreed with him. “But I don’t see my decision changing.”

Hotchner slid you a piece of paper across his desk, an address penciled neatly on white lined notebook paper and a key taped to the bottom. “Three pm tomorrow, bring whatever clothing you feel would be appropriate and proper attire for the evening into the late afternoon on Sunday.”

“I can do that,” you said, taking the paper and carefully placing it into your wallet.

“How will you be getting home tonight?” Hotchner asked, raising his eyebrow yet again.

“I was going to walk home,” you said sheepishly despite that being the same thing you do every other night.

“Reid, could you accompany her? It would be the brotherly thing to do,” Hotchner smirked, you felt your face grow red and that same pang of desire strike across your hips.

“The pleasure would be mine,” Reid perked up and smiled.

You all stood up, saying your goodbyes after returning the empty glasses to the cart and Hotchner removed the overturned one from its resting position guarding the plant bug.  _ Another cliche _ , you smiled to yourself.

“Ready to go?” Reid asked, watching as you collected your bag from the floor.

“Yeah,” you nodded, allowing him to slip an arm around your shoulders once you cleared the front door.

“You’re really sure you wanna join us?” He asked as you walked down the sidewalk, turning left towards your apartment.

“Yes,” you said with a laugh. “I. Would be lying to say it had crossed my mind before, but also lying to say some similar situations haven’t.”

“Oh really?” He purred.

“Yes, really,” you smiled again and rolled your eyes. “This is my stop, do you need a couch to crash on?”

“I’m good, I only live a few blocks away,” Reid said, rocking back on his heels for a second. “Besides, I’m 99% sure I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” he winked again and pressed his lips against your cheek, then turned and began walking away.


	2. Cats, Canaries, Camaraderie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I knew you’d be perfect,” he said, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the feeling of his breath on your neck. “Such a perfect little girl,” you could tell he was smiling. He continued to rub your back with one arm and your thigh with his other hand, and seemingly liked the way it was starting to make you squirm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! So the plan, as it stands, is to be updating this weekly on Sunday. I've got enough written and planned to sustain that for a decent while. I will be going away on vacation in the beginning of August, but I'll still have access to a computer, so next week I'll give warning if I don't think anything will be posted while I'm gone, but I think it'll all be okay. The internet is pure magic. I hope this is as well received as the first chapter, and I really hope everyone keeps reading and enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it! Again, feel free to comment ideas you have for future chapters, AmericanAffair loves having the pleasure to pleasure you, please comment for continued dirtiness. I also have a Tumblr (MyLittleCrudePlace) which is new and fairly barren as of yet, but anon asks are on so anyone can contact me through there as well. 
> 
> Once more, this was beta'd and fully encouraged by Pop_Rocks_And_Skittles, who is the GOAT as far as I'm concerned. 
> 
> Alright, with all that out of the way, have at it!

_ “And what are you working on?” Hotchner asked, resting down on his knees beside of your place sprawled out on your stomach on the floor. _

_ “Drawing Spencer, but his is better though,” you frowned in displeasure, seeing the picture Spencer had handed you only a few moments before. “He’s better at colours and lines and everything.” _

_ “Spencer is older, he’s had more practice than you’ve had,” Hotchner said gently, running his hand through your hair. It felt good, made your insides burst with warmth and tranquility ushered over you. _

_ You hummed in contentment, pausing on the masterpiece, and leaned further against his hand in subconscious enticement.  _

_ “Does that feel nice?” Hotchner asked, slowly moving his hand down to caress along your spine. _

_ “Yeah,” came your hypnotised response. “More?” You whimpered as his hand pulled away. _

_ “More what?” Hotchner teased, smiling down at you when you opened your eyes. _

_ “More, Daddy, please?” Your tongue flicked out to wet your lower lip before biting down on it, trying to bat your eyelashes in feigning innocence. _

_ He smirked, then leaned down further to kiss your head softly. “Isn’t it getting close to your bedtime?” _

_ “But I’m not even a little bit tired,” you argued, pushing yourself up from the floor to stand, hands planted firmly on your hips. _

_ “Maybe your brother can wear you out a little bit,” Hotchner’s words were coupled with a shock to your system in the form of Spencer’s hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you backwards to be pressed against him. _

 

Your eyes burst open and you sat straight up in bed, shifting the blankets off from your overheating body. Everything felt feverishly hot, every inch of your skin and anything it was in contact with. In something of a daze, you reached down to press your hand between your legs, seemingly the source of all this heat.

Moaning softly, you rocked against your palm, shocked at how wet you already were. “Spencer,” you whispered, slipping two fingers inside while the bones of your wrist pressed tight up against your clit, providing an endless source of bumpy friction. Still able to somehow feel his long fingers digging in around your waist, feel his erection rubbing against your ass, his hot breath on the back of your neck.

“D-Daddy,” you groaned, visions of Hotchner flashing through your still sleep drunk mind. Imagining his hand between your thighs while you were perched on his lap, legs spread shamelessly, head tossed back over his shoulder. Panting, heaving, begging for more. 

You gasped and came, feet stretching out so straight with toes curling so tightly it shot pain through your legs. You laid there, too sensitive to consider moving, brain too muddled from the orgasm to process anything that just happened apart from knowing it felt really,  _ really _ good.

“Fuck,” you said, sounding both astonished and horrified. You blinked a few times and shook your head, now mostly awake, and stood up. 

The morning sun was beating down already like a debt collector on a front door, you could feel the accompanying southern humidity and winced at the thought of how bad it must already be outside despite being only - your eyes shot down to your phone - 10am. There was a lengthy list of pros and cons regarding living below the Mason Dixon line, but the spastic weather and unyielding muggy air certainly didn’t belong in the positive column.

You stretched, walking to the kitchen and robotically went about your well established routine. Remove brew basket, stuff filter in, fill filter with coffee, replace brew basket. Take decanter to sink, fill decanter with water, pour into reservoir, replace decanter below brew basket. The entire production ended with you jamming your index finger against the red button - twice because you missed it the first time - and walking away satisfied at the red light that popped on to indicate it was working. There was a mug already sat in the sink, only rinsed from yesterday. 

Still hazy, you made your way into the bathroom, staring into the mirror. You still felt tired, reaching for a comb to brush your bangs, which always seemed to be most affected by rabid bedhead when compared to the rest of your hair. Although, after that dream, you weren’t particularly surprised to find your locks looking akin to a swamp witch.

_ That dream… _ it was just as the aroma of coffee reached your nostrils and that thought echoed through your brain that the gravity of last night, your dream, and today all came careening together.

That was real! Not the dream, that wasn’t real, but you really had that dream. You had that dream and woke up so horny that you had to very literally take matters into your own hands before you did anything else - when had that even happened before?! You rushed back into the kitchen, hearing the coffee maker emit it’s weird raspy functioning sounds as water spurted through the filter and dripped down. 

“Wallet, wallet,” you mumbled to yourself, digging through your purse to find. Yeah. Yes, inside your wallet, a piece of folded paper. An address neatly written in tiny, evenly spaced capitals, and a key taped below it.

_ 3pm.  _ You remembered everything now. No caffeine jumpstart could offer a remotely comparable rush. It felt like sleeping through an alarm clock on a workday combined with almost sideswiping a car during a merge on the interstate. You became overwhelmed with both how much and how little needed to be done. 

“I need. Okay. Shower, makeup? Will this call for makeup? Shower, for sure shower. Moisturise. Clothes, I need clothes. I should pick out my clothes first? And pack some, Hotchner said…” you trailed off, walking away from the kitchen and into your bedroom once more. You opened your closet, looking at the wide array of options before you.

What defined appropriate in this situation? At work, of course, you were confined to a world of dress pants, pencil skirts, and button ups or smart long sleeved shirts. “But this is not work,” you emphasised to yourself, stepping away from where all those outfit pieces were hung, down to the other side where you stored your regular clothes. “This is the antithesis of work.”

There were options aplenty. Skirts, shorts, skorts, dresses… 

You could hear the coffee maker give a final sputter and walked back out into the kitchen, pressing the switch off and dumping the still steaming coffee grounds into the trash. You poured a cup into your favourite mug, a gift from Garcia welcoming you to the team that said ‘Coffee because crack is bad’ across the front. You pulled out a chair from your small dining table and sat down, nursing the brew while pulling open Google on your phone. Where to even begin?

Re-thinking what you had discussed last night, you tried to find the words to sum it up nicely in a search bar and garner actual results.  _ ‘Sexual family roleplay dynamic’ _ made sense, to some degree. In the way that it captured all the important points and didn’t sound like the blatant title of a porno. Maybe an obscure, poorly conceived porno. 

You scrolled through articles and perused forums, trying to understand what exactly you were getting into. Certainly you understood the fundamentals of it, but it was hard to find more information. There was virtually nothing to warn you of what to expect, but most sites discussed in length the DD/lg lifestyle.

Perusing from link to link, by the time your mug was halfway empty you had read at least 3 different lists describing key characteristics a Daddy Dom should have. They described someone taking on the role of a mentor, lover, disciplinarian, supporter, and protector. Certainly all qualities you either knew or could easily imagine Agent Hotchner possessing. 

There was further explanations on what it meant to be a Little. The more you read, the more you realised how deeply that idea positively resonated with you. Despite never having considered it as a possible outlet, you’d always engaged in activities that others might consider childish. The adult responsibilities of working for the BAU weighed heavily on you, and all the hard work that had paved the way for this career. In your home life, you did enjoy the stress relief that accompanied colouring - although the very recognition of this sent a flutter through your stomach along with memories of your dream from last night flashing before your eyes.

_ Focus _ , you warned yourself. You did have a few stuffed animals on your bed along some well read and well loved children’s books that you’d kept over the years on your bookshelf. The idea of ageplaying someone younger sounded almost natural and undeniably alluring. 

Every article featured a paragraph, at least, reminding the reader that a DD/lg lifestyle happened between two consenting adults and did not in the least bit imply pedophilia, but instead it’s just another form of roleplay. No matter how taboo, it’s also not abnormal. All of it you found comforting, and it did give you a strange boost of confidence. It also made you wonder just how exactly Hotchner and Reid seemed to know it would be a good fit for you to join them in this relationship. Had they profiled your sexual interests along with everything else when you had first taken on the internship position?

You bit your lip, taking one last swig from your mug and draining the coffee. You returned it to its place in the sink after another quick rinse, promising yourself to wash it for real tomorrow. And acknowledging it would probably be another week before you actually held yourself to your promise. 

After all the reading, some self discovery, and major epiphanies, you looked back down at the clock on your phone. 

_ Noon?! How the hell did that happen?  _ You ransacked your brain, having had been so immersed in the reading you hadn’t even thought to watch the clock. “Idiot,” you whispered to yourself, pushing in the kitchen chair and walking back to your bedroom, once again opening your closet.

You grabbed a small duffle bag for the extra outfit changes and stripped naked, throwing your pyjamas into the hamper. You decided on a somewhat skimpy, pale pink lace thong, with its matching pink lace bralette, which wouldn’t offer much support, but you didn’t think that was particularly important anyway. You laid that on the bed to put on post shower. Into the duffle bag went another matching lingerie set, just in case, this one made of the same material but all white instead of pink. You shrugged to yourself -  _ it’s cute, right? _ \- and shook your head in agreement with your own question.

Next was the more difficult part, deciding upon the actual garments.

“Alright, so I’ll need. Something for today and tonight, something to sleep in, and something for tomorrow,” you murmured. You wanted something that fit well, showing off your assets, but also reflected a sense of innocence. Something cute and tempting. 

With a smirk, you grabbed a light blue denim suspender skirt. It had some buttons going up the front and stopped just below your bust, with two straps going over your shoulders, almost like a dress missing an integral piece of fabric. A gift from an older aunt that you’d felt too guilty to return, and always wore when you visited her. Pursing your lips together in concentration, you next decided on a simple sheer white button up with short, flowy sleeves. 

Into the duffle bag went your favourite matching camisole and short-shorts sleeping set. The top was just a simple white cami that went down just below your belly button, the shorts were bright red with a white trim like 90s athletic shorts. You grinned and grabbed a pair of white tube socks with red stripes around the top. 

Lastly, for the day after, you decided on a high-waisted striped mini skirt and skimpy red, front tying crop top. You had a hopeful suspicion Doctor Reid would be particularly fond of that outfit.

You took a quick shower, savouring the cold water pouring down on you and knowing outside would be sweltering. At least, in the shower, you weren’t preoccupied by intrusive thoughts and overthinking every single detail of what was to come. Trying to prepare yourself for absolutely every single possible outcome. You relaxed, enjoying the sensation of getting clean, taking care to exfoliate after shaving and using your favourite shampoo that left the entire apartment smelling of lavender afterwards.

_ I can do this. It’ll be fun. Everything will be good. _ You kept promising yourself, turning off the water and stepping out into the bathroom. The air was already too warm. You dried off quickly, massaging Argan oil all over your skin to leave it soft and smooth. Even taking the time to use a few hair products, you styled it quickly but exactly to your liking. Lastly came a light dusting of makeup, some foundation and blush; no more than you’d wear on any other day, but still enough to give you a youthful glow. 

You walked back into the bedroom, putting on your selected attire, and giving yourself a look in the mirror.  _ What if they don’t like it? What if it’s too much. Or not enough. Maybe this isn’t the look they wanted? Why didn’t he tell me exactly what he wanted, I could’ve gone out and bought exactly what he wanted _ . You couldn’t help yourself but be suddenly, once again, consumed by anxiety. In the logical sense, you knew your fears were stupid and prompted by nothing. How could you work at the BAU, so level headed and practical in approaching violent murder, psychopaths, and monotonous horror - yet be here, now, slamming into the walls of your own mind in paranoia over if Hotchner and Reid would like your outfit? 

_ I’m pathetic _ , you thought, miserably. The time on your phone read 2:30pm. Time to head to the safehouse. You had intended on walking, since it was relatively close, and the sweltering weather outside wouldn’t affect you much in the short mile and a half distance. Aside from maybe your mood. Or, alternatively, focusing on the heat and not the awful uncertainties of what was to come would be helpful.

You put your purse into the duffel bag and swung its strap across your shoulders, holding the key in one hand and punching the address into your phone with the other. _20 minutes_ _away_ it said. 

Taking a sharp inhale, you considered the other option: not going. Up until right now, it seemed entirely out of the question. But up until right now, you hadn’t had one foot on the threshold of the door, either. Your heartbeat quickened. 

_ He did say that you didn’t have to go. Your career won’t come under fire if you don’t go. Everything will be exactly the same. You just give him back the key, say, ‘I’m sorry sir, but I just don’t think this is for me,’  _ \- you swung the door shut behind you and waited only until you heard the click of the lock setting into place -  _ No one is gonna be mad. Just stay home. Watch movies and do chores. There’s nothing forcing you there. It’s entirely up to you. He said so! They both said so! _

You’d already completed five minutes of the walk, convincing yourself more and more of all the entirely valid reasons why you shouldn’t leave your apartment, and alternative activities. Yet you were still walking. One foot in front of the other, pounding the pavement. Because something was drawing you in, you could feel it deep down inside, like a magnet. You thought of your dream, of Hotchner’s hand caressing your scalp and his lips pressed affectionately against your forehead. You thought of Reid, his dopey smile last night after he kissed your cheek. 

The humidity was nothing compared to the warmth in your chest and butterflies in your stomach when you thought of those things. And maybe that was weird, maybe this whole thing was weird, but maybe you’re weird too. Weirder than you’d thought, even. And that’s kinda great. To be weird and happy and nervous and excited, it was all kinda great.

 

You tripped on the steps on the way into the safehouse. It was on an unassuming street, right on the border of the city and suburbia, a small brick house with a white fence and a black metal roof. Cute and quaint. You walked up the concrete stairs and, just as you were about to take the final one, met up with your arch-nemesis gravity and lost the battle in less than 5 seconds. 

You hissed in pain, feeling your left knee scrape against the rough ground. Both your hands had shot out to break your fall, which ultimately meant both your hands had been subjected to a little less torture, but torture nonetheless. 

“Goddamn it,” you whined, pushing yourself back up and fumbling to get the key out of your pocket. All that time spent on picking out the perfect outfit,  _ agonising _ over the perfect aesthetic. Ruined by the blood starting to run down your leg from the gash on your knee. You finally got the key in the door, then the deadbolt, and shouldered it solidly. It swung open, loudly, and you gracefully fell through the doorway.

“Hi!” Reid was standing there, looking at you with an amused smirk. You shut the door behind you and made sure all the locks were in place before turning back around to greet him.

“Hi,” you said unenthusiastically, blowing your bangs back into place.

“Your knee,” his eyes widened in shock and he rushed over, taking the bag from your shoulder and placing it on the ground. You couldn’t tell if…  _ Does it start the minute I walk through the door?  _ You felt another round of anxiety pang through your chest.  _ Oh god, oh I thought something else would happen. Okay. Okay. It’s this now. Play the role. You’re supposed to play the role.  _

“Is everything okay?” You heard Hotchner’s voice come from another room.

“I fell outside,” your voice was feeble, sounding uncertain despite speaking the truth. You chewed on the inside of your lip.

“Come here,” Reid said, pulling you into the kitchen and - much to your astonishment - lifting you up onto the counter to pull your leg into the sink. “We need to clean it, scrapes can easily be contaminated by bacteria on the concrete. We don’t want you getting an infection,” Reid said. He grabbed some soap and cleansed his own hands first, then carefully put some on your bloody knee, rubbing it in gently.

“Ow,” you breathed. The soap on the freshly torn skin hurt, but you’d endured worse. 

“It’ll be okay, don’t worry,” he promised. He wet a towel and carefully swept along where he had just washed it out, making sure to remove all the soap. He went into the bathroom, returning with a cotton pad, gauze, and medical tape. Reid quickly had the whole thing patched up and protected. 

He smiled at you, so you smiled back at him. “All better,” he told you, leaning down to kiss your thigh right above where his bandaging job ended.

“Thank you,” you said, biting your lip again as you hopped down from the counter.

“Did you scrape anywhere else?” He inquired.

You held up your hands, which weren’t bleeding but the skin now looked all rough and pink. He watched you wash your hands, and paid close attention to make sure you did it right - scrubbing between the fingers, under the nails, and massaging the palms - then let you wipe them off on the towel hanging from the oven.

“Okay, what happened?” Hotchner came into the room. You didn’t know what he had been doing before, but you looked at him sheepishly and then down at your knee.

“I just, um, I tripped on the stair outside. And so. R-I mean, Spencer cleaned it up.”

“And her hands too,” Spencer added, looking very proud of himself.

“Good job, Spencer, that was really helpful of you,” Hotchner said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder lovingly.

“Thanks,” he grinned. You’d never seen Spencer seem so… blissfully calm? Many times when you talked to him, he maintained an eerie composure. Like he was on the brink of something, and you weren’t entirely sure what it might be, but right now he was just blindly happy. Even when he rattled off his little facts, he seemed utterly happy with himself.

“Do you wanna go watch TV while I talk to her now?” Hotchner asked, and Spencer left without any fight to go into the living room. You could hear the sounds of a documentary, the narrator discussing some ancient civilization. You smiled. Hotchner then turned to look at you, “Let’s go sit in my room and have a talk.”

“Okay, should I get my-” you trailed off, seeing Hotchner scoop up your bag and toss it over his shoulder, carrying it with him. He reached out his hand and you took it without thinking, then blushed, but luckily he didn’t notice as he lead you down the hallway from the kitchen into his room.

The house was generic and unremarkable, a key proponent of most safe houses. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Prints of famous artworks hung on the walls, tan carpets, white bedding, dark stained furniture. 

“Now, it’s really important that you listen, okay?” He said, helping you climb up onto the bed and perch right beside of him, your legs touching. “First of all, you shouldn’t at all feel like you’re acting. You saw how Reid was. He’s still himself. Just, a little different. The roleplaying might change some things, but it shouldn’t change who you are at all, okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded in understanding.

“Good. Now, if you need to stop for some reason, or if any of us need to stop, the word is daffodil. So if it all gets to be too much, or you need a break, anything. Or if you hear one of us say it. That means all done, no more for right then,” Hotchner explained. The way he spoke was different, there was a newfound warmth to his tone that you hadn’t heard before. “When we have these scenes, Reid will be your older brother. We don’t have set ages, we felt like that complicates things too much. But you are the youngest, and he is older than you. So if I’m not around, Reid is in charge of you, too, and what he says goes.

“When you talk to me, you’ll call me Daddy. When you talk to Reid, you’ll call him Spencer or Spence. If I ask you a question about something, you’ll answer it ‘yes, Daddy’ or ‘no, Daddy’. If I tell you to do something, you’ll do it, because I’m looking out for you and know what’s best. If I tell you not do something, you won’t do it, for the same reason. If you don’t listen to me, or don’t answer me appropriately, I will have to make sure you learn a lesson so you do it correctly in the future. And if you don’t obey Spencer, he is also allowed to perform discipline. Okay? So those are our rules. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you said. For a second, you hesitated, and saw Hotchner raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Daddy,” you corrected yourself quickly.

“Very good,” he smiled, running a hand along your thigh. “You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you,” he promised, turning and taking his left arm to wrap around you, pulling you up into his lap.

Instinctively, you nuzzled into him, bringing your arms around his back and sighing in contentment.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he said, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the feeling of his breath on your neck. “Such a perfect little girl,” you could tell he was smiling. He continued to rub your back with one arm and your thigh with his other hand, and seemingly liked the way it was starting to make you squirm. 

“We’re gonna have so much fun with you,” he kissed down your neck, so softly, and you couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. “But I’m thinking, maybe before we share. Maybe I can have some fun with you first, princess,” the hand petting your thigh suddenly squeezed, making you gasp and roll your hips.

“Someone is excited, huh? Maybe we should wait then,” with such little warning, all his touches and kisses were gone. 

“B-But,” you whined, burying your head in his shoulder. “Please?” You tried to ask as nicely as you could muster, everything felt like a muddled mess of insanely turned on and now sad that it was all gone.

“You’re so polite, too,” he complimented, this time hugging you with both arms around your waist, keeping you tight in his lap. “But I still think we should wait, sweetheart. Just because I think you look really cute when you squirm,” he teased.


	3. Cats, Canaries, Camaraderie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is this what you imagined?” He asked huskily.   
> “Better,” you responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Back with the weekly update, yo. It's look like I will be able to update while I'm away, which is also good. So uh, this is where things are starting to heat up, so to speak. I mean, I didn't give this little passion project an NC-17 rating for nothing. AmericanAffair loves having the pleasure to pleasure you, so comment for continued dirtiness! I have a giant ego that needs constant stroking in order to remain half hard and let me keep writing - I know, it's sort of a weird process, but it's my process. Also, my birthday is later this week, so I guess this is a present for everyone. 
> 
> General housekeeping stuff, real quick - Pop_Rocks_And_Skittles is not just a, but THE homeboy. Secondly, I do in fact have a Tumblr (MyLittleCrudePlace) where I post this fic and reblog pictures and it's still a very scarce landscape but it's also a wonderful place to get ahold of me with ideas and, dare I say, requests?! That door is open, y'know.
> 
> Alright, rip this apart.

Hotch led you out to the living room, where Spencer was sitting in front of the TV, engrossed still in the documentary he was watching. He was smack in the middle of the couch, knees spread apart with his elbows resting on them, chin poised on his knuckles. 

“Here, how about you spend some time with Spence, huh?” He said in a way you knew was more of a command than offer. “What are you watching, bud?” He asked, guiding you closer to him. Hotch placed his hands on your shoulders and positioned you to sit on the floor  between Spencer’s legs. 

“It’s a series about man's necessity for cryptozoological creatures and their respective role in culture as well as the psyche,” he answered, seemingly unaware of your presence sitting underneath of him until he shifted his body to look at Hotch and brushed up against you. “Oh! Hi,” he smiled down at you sweetly, reaching down his hand to play with your hair and twist it through his fingers, careful not to pull.

“I’ve got some things to finish doing before I start getting dinner ready, do you think you can be in charge for a bit?” He asked Reid, sounding both loving and serious.

Spencer grinned even wider at that, and shook his head yes before answering, “I know I can be.”

“Good boy, Spence,” Hotch said. You were somewhat surprised when he bent down and  kissed the top of his head, which made Spencer beam - his entire face lit up in delight. “You’re gonna do whatever he says, right?” He asked you now, squatting down so he could look you in the eyes.

“Yes Daddy,” you nodded. Spencer’s hand was still in your hair, now feeling more protective than anything else, and you leaned your head back so you were resting half your face on Spencer’s inner thigh, pretending to be totally aloof to the obvious situation that was starting to cause strain on his zipper.

Hotchner didn’t say anything to that, but he looked incredibly pleased with himself, giving your thigh another quick squeeze before standing and returning to whatever he had probably been doing before you got there.

“Does your knee still hurt?” Spencer asked, breaking eye contact with the television as his program went to commercial.

“Only a little,” you confessed. You didn’t mention that you had forgotten about the event at all until he reminded you, your brain was still a bit of a mess from all the affection Hotch had given you, and the promise of a lot more very soon.

He pursed his lips together for a moment, then released them, his tongue darting out over to wet them lightly. You weren’t sure if he was doing it to purposefully feed the fire or if he was truly a caricature level of endearingly unaware, but either way, he was turning you on. And by the feel of the fabric straining so close, and yet so far, from your head, you were having some sort of affect on the genius too.

“What would make you feel better? Do you want to patch me up too? I’ll teach you how so you know for next time,” Spencer offered, his hand now slipping to rub along where your collarbone met your shoulder. 

“Yes! So I can be a doctor!” You agreed enthusiastically, which seemingly surprised him, but he laughed and it made you laugh along.

“I’ll go get the box,” he said, carefully standing up so as not to disturb you too much, apart from having to lift your head up so it wasn’t against him any longer.

Spencer returned a minute or two later, evidently no longer enthralled by the show, which continued in the background but went ignored.

You squinted, looking at him. He was still wearing a long-sleeve button up and corduroy pants, like always. “Spence, I don’t think you have any ouch spots?” You said, looking at his attire curiously.

“Maybe you’ll just have to look,” he said, and you could tell he was still trying to sound confident, but his breath hitched just a little bit when you stood and sat him down on the couch, climbing into his lap. All of it happened on reflex, there was no seductive swing of the hips or any moves. It just made sense: he needed to be inspected, and you needed to be as close to him as possible to do that.

Your fingers instantly went to the button of his sleeves, undoing both on the left side, and trying to carefully roll up the fabric so it wouldn’t be an utterly creased disaster. Although you doubted Spencer would be one to really care about those sorts of things in this instance.

“I don’t see anything on this arm,” you nodded, making sure everything below the elbow was safe and sound. You repeated the motions of detailed inspection to his right arm, scanning every inch of skin for any sign of injury.

Your hands were perched just below his collar, fingers now holding the top buttons of his shirt, but you looked at him nervously.

“Go on,” he encouraged, his face flushed.

“Do you have a fever?” You asked, biting your lip and dropping your grasp of his collar to press one hand against his forehead. “You feel hot.”

“Correlation does not imply causation,” Spencer said, now reaching out to hold your wrist and brought your hand back down to the top buttons of his shirt.

You took the initiative then, undoing each individual button with care, slowly unveiling his skin inch by precious inch. When all was said and done, you pushed aside the fabric like curtains and examined his chest. 

His skin was soft, and pale, much like you had expected. The way his ribcage bounced with each sharp influx of air was mesmerising. Despite being seated, you could still see the sharp lines of his boney hips, which you couldn’t help but trace with your index finger. 

“Do you see something there?” He asked, watching the way you suddenly became entranced by his physique. Spencer was far from the most physically confident person in a room at any given time, no matter who else was in that room with him. But the way your eyes became suddenly glued to him in such an objectifying manner was stunning. He’d never thought of himself as being capable of having that effect on anyone, much less you, but he’d also never thought this sort of circumstance would ever come to life outside of his imagination.

“N-No,” you said slowly, finally breaking your stare to look back up at his eyes. He was smiling, it made you feel happy.

“Then what are you looking at?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you blushed now, feeling embarrassed by your lizard brain.

“Don’t lie to me,” Spencer warned, his smile receding into something of an impish smirk. “I’m in charge, remember?” 

“I’m not lying,” you insisted, but your eyes darted away from his for only a second and you looked back with a slight cock of the head. “I was just inspecting.”

“Clever,” he slid his hand along your cheek in affection, and you couldn’t tell if his response meant you were out of the woods for the infraction. “But not convincing.”

_ Nope. _

“‘Whatever houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of the sick, remaining free of all intentional injustice’,” Spencer began to speak, his voice was low but confident. You didn’t understand what he was saying, only that it was something pulled from that precious library of memories. “‘Of all mischief and in particular of sexual relations with both female and male persons, be they free or slaves.’ Do you know what that means?”

“Nuh-”

“It’s from the Hippocratic Oath, that’s the thing all doctors and all nurses have to take. It was written originally by Hippocrates, between the fifth and third century BC, and it’s  _ sacred _ to all practising physicians. That part I just told you means that when you treat a patient, your only focus and purpose is to make them feel all better. But, I don’t think that’s what you’re focusing on, is it?” 

He’d caught you. You licked your lips, feeling your mouth run dry. 

“If you wanted to be a doctor, you’d have to take the Hippocratic Oath,” he was still smiling.

Your mind flashed back briefly to when Hotchner had you in his lap, _ “I think you look really cute when you squirm” _ reverberating through your mind. Clearly Reid did too. Just with a different methodology.

“And if you break it, depending on the matter being of ethics or legality, there’s usually some form of punishment in due order. Close your eyes,” he instructed. You complied instantly, feeling a prickling tingle emerging between your thighs, despite them being spread apart from sitting on his lap. His left hand securely held both your wrists together in a display of dominance.

“Does that mean I’m going to be punished?” You asked, your voice sounded small and curious.

“What kind of older brother would I be if I didn’t teach you important lessons about honesty and keeping promises?” Spencer asked. He tilted his head to the side, and all his hair fell in that direction, and you knew he had you completely under his thumb, but you couldn’t help to admire how cute he looked at that angle. All sharp jaw and loving eyes and smooth skin and pretty lips.

“But. But I never took a Hippocratic Oath! I didn’t break a promise!” You said, thinking on your toes of anything to get out of whatever punishment he had in mind. Although the inflection of his voice when he spoke the words  _ older brothe _ r was the audible version of whiskey and a cigarette.

“I know,” his tone changed so quick you had metaphoric whiplash. Back to normal, pure, almost virginal. “But you  _ did  _ lie, and  _ I _ didn’t finish teaching you how to patch someone up. Unless, of course, you’d rather I let Daddy decide,” he knit his eyebrows together and you could tell his mind was dancing on the idea, trying to pick himself which was the favourable option, although you weren’t sure if he had your best interests weighing heavily in the process.

“No! You, please, I’m sorry Spencer,” you were quick to plead, pursing your lips together in a nervous fashion.

“Keep your wrists like that, okay?” He commanded, and you were slave to his voice. He released his grasp and you didn’t dare move an inch, trying to even fight the nervous twitch of your muscles. “This is a gauze roll, see? Oh, right, you can’t. Well, usually you use it to keep a gauze pad in place, if someone had a big cut, too big for a regular band-aid. This is what I put on your knee earlier. It sticks to itself and hangs on nice and tight. And this is a gauze pad,” he ripped the packaging open and unfolded it. “Since you had a little issue controlling your eyes earlier…” he trailed off, pressing the fabric against your still closed eyelids. You felt him begin to wrap the gauze roll around your head a few times, securing the material in place, and effectively removing one of your most important senses. 

“There we go,” his tone was dripping in self-satisfaction. “How do you feel?” He asked, having leaned in much closer so his lips were beside of your ear.

“Scared,” you whispered back, only half lying. If you were genuinely fearful for anything, you would have used the safeword. This was a more sensual fear, the kind accompanied by knowing you are entirely at someone else's mercy, not knowing what they were going to do next. You might not have been a full fledged profiler, but it was surely something you were fascinated by and had devoted much time to studying, therefore being robbed of your vision was that much more of a deadly blow - no longer able to see the subtle changes in his posture or facial expression to predict the next move.

“Most little girls are, when they go see their doctor,” Spencer said softly. “But I’m gonna give you a little physical, make sure I didn’t miss anything that needs fixing,” his mouth was so painfully close to your throat and you just wanted to feel his lips pressed against your pulse point but he didn’t. The muscles in your neck were straining like a magnet desperate to cling to a fridge. “If you’re good, you’ll even get a lollipop after.”

You pondered, briefly, if there was any weight you should apply to his phrasing of  _ their doctor _ , seeing as how the word physician would’ve been a more apt title. Maybe this was his way of making a pun? You put the questions on the backburner, better for another time.

“Spencer? What are you doing?” You heard Hotchner call from the other room, ever the protector.

Spencer pressed a finger against your lips, but you weren’t planning on speaking anyway.

“Playing medical practise,” he yelled back in earnest.

Hotch seemed satisfied by that answer, because he didn’t yell anything back, and you didn’t hear footsteps coming into the living room. 

Spencer moved his finger, so that instead of laying flush against your lips, he was beginning to gently pry them apart and press it against your teeth. Unsure of what else to do, you opened your mouth to accept the appendage and gently started to suck, probing your tongue along his slightly calloused hand. He pulled it away quickly, without a word.

“Hm,” he ran the now wet finger along your thigh, which made you realise how far your skirt had ridden up due to the way you were seated. It was barely on anymore, mostly rolled up around your waist, maybe an inch or two still hitting your thigh. He used his other hand to push it up the rest of the way, exposing your lace underwear. “These are cute,” he said, and you felt his finger trace along the cuff where they met your leg first, and then so excruciatingly slowly slide along the front, dead centre. His hand paused for only a minute, applying just a little bit more pressure than necessary onto your clit, and then ran back down your slit.

His entire hand was suddenly cupping your sex. “How long have you been thinking about intercourse to be this wet?” He squeezed, just a little, and you moaned louder than you cared to admit.

“Since I woke up this morning,” you spoke quickly, feeling your face heat up once again.

“You’re blushing, so I know you’re telling the truth,” he continued moving his hand, massaging you through your underwear, while you continued to make noises despite your greatest attempts at self control. “Did something happen in your dreams?” He inquired.

“Yes,” you whispered, feeling closer and closer to orgasm.

“What happened?” Spencer’s other hand now moved to cup your lower back, trailing his long fingers up and down your spine.

“I-I was on the floor and we were drawing pictures and Daddy said I had to go to bed but I wasn’t tired and then-then he said maybe your brother can wear you out for a bit and then you grabbed me and pulled me against you and I could feel your-” your blush darkened and you cut yourself off, but in response to the sudden conclusion of your story, Spencer instantly pulled the hand between your legs away. You cried out, desperate for more friction, but having none there. You wriggled in his lap, but both his hands were tight around your waist all of a sudden, holding you starkly still.

“That’s all it took, to get you this fired up?” He sounded genuinely curious, which you found somewhat confusing.

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly.

“Wow,” he commented, but still didn’t resume rubbing you. “Very interesting.”

“Spence,” you whined, dragging out the vowels in his name. “Why did you stop?”

“I told you there would be punishment,” he informed you once more. His words sent a shiver through your body. 

“But. But it hurts,” you insisted, and that wasn’t a lie either. It really did. Your clit was desperate for attention to the point of pain, you could feel your pelvic floor muscles tightening and releasing, as though they could give you a source of freedom from the agony of being denied an orgasm. 

“Oh, it hurts?” He sounded so mockingly concerned, but you were past the point of shame.

“Yes,” you whined more, wriggling about in his lap. You’d managed to get your knees up onto the couch, around him, and inched closer, so now your sex was directly on top of his. And  _ finally _ , you could feel his boner pressing through his pants and through your sheer panties and you gave your hips one solid grind, shuddering in pleasure. One more and you were sure you’d cum.

“I didn’t tell you to do any of that,” Reid admonished, quickly pulling you to the left so you tumbled off of him and onto the couch in a seated position. “I don’t care how bad it hurts down there,” he said, once again his mouth was right at the shell of your ear. “It hurts because you don’t have any self control. But I do. And more than self, I have control over you. Do you understand what that means?” He asked, and his hand once again reached between your thighs, running his thumb over your hypersensitive clit. “It means, you’ll cum when I want you to cum. You’ll hurt when I want you to hurt,” his voice was so quiet, almost wobbly, you got the feeling he wasn’t used to being this freely dominant, at the same time he was enjoying himself.

“O-Okay, Spence,” you said, biting your lip to hold in all the sounds threatening to spill out of your mouth.

“Now, since you pulled that move earlier, I’m going to use this gauze again. Move forward, there you go,” he helped you inch farther out from the back of the couch. “Put your arms behind your back with your wrists touching,” once again, you complied. 

He took the roll around your back and began to wrap around your wrists in a figure eight pattern, tight without cutting off circulation. He went around a solid 3 or 4 times. No way you were going to pull that off without a decent amount of effort. You heard the fabric rip, and he took the remaining tail and wrapped it around between the layers.

“See, now try to get out of that.” You did as told, struggling a little for the performance aspect. No avail.

“I can’t,” you pouted, once again biting your lip in an anticipation.

“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s get you out of those clothes,” his fingers quickly undid either snap of your denim pinafore and he pulled it over your head. You heard the clang of the buttons and denim hit the floor. “And this shirt,” he spoke, undoing the buttons of your top as well. With your restraints, he couldn’t take it all the way off, but he let it fall as open as he could, admiring your matching underwear set.

At least, you assume he was admiring. He was quiet, the only move he made was to put his hands back around your hips and help you back up onto his lap, facing him still. You squirmed, feeling uncomfortable, overexposed, and humiliated at the prospect of being nearly fully nude in front of someone you’d crushed on for awhile without even having the luxury of seeing their reaction to your body. 

“Be still,” he commanded again, and you were trying so fucking hard but it was so. Fucking. Hard. He moved you closer to him, once again feeling the pressure of his erection against your inner thighs, this time having the strength at least to not shameless wind and grind against him. His hair was just touching your exposed skin.

“So, you were having dreams about this?” He asked, tracing his index finger along the waistband of your panties.

“Kind of,” you said, your face growing hot.

“Kind of isn’t a good enough answer,” he prodded for more, his thumb grazing your hip bone.

“I told you, it was about you, and. And Daddy, and. We were drawing. And then you grabbed me because he said you were going to wear me out because I wasn’t tired,” you repeated the story to him yet again, earning a chuckle from Spencer. “Why is that funny?” You protested, although you were trying to sound more accusatory and less whiny. Although, you weren’t sure if that was the best way to approach the issue.

“I can make a gag out of gauze too,” he warned. “Anyway, it’s funny because I didn’t realise it was just this easy to get you so turned on,” to emphasize his point, he groped your now soaking wet panties. “Honestly, I thought it would be a lot more difficult. All it took was you imagining me putting my hands around your hips? And someone telling me to be inside of you? And now you’re in my lap, you can’t even stop yourself from squirming around. It’s kind of wholesome, and really amusing,” he explained. You wanted to be mad. Instantly, that part of your brain fired up, but you quelled it just as quickly. He was doing this to get a reaction out of you. And he was really, really good at it.

His hand gave another gentle grope of the area, causing you to elicit another gasp. “Do you have something to say?” Spencer asked. He was running just the pads of his fingertips up and down your slit now, so delicately, just enough that you could feel it but not enough to get release from it.

“P-Please,” you whimpered, your thighs tensing uncontrollably.

“Please what?” He pried. Was he really going to make you beg? What did he even want you to beg for?

“Please, Spencer, I can’t. I can’t help it, I need-”

“You can’t help it? That sounds like a you problem,” he chuckled. Now you could really feel what he was up to. His dick was out, you felt a very minimal brush of skin against your thigh that was certainly not his hand. His dick was out, and you could now feel him jerking himself off, every now and then his hand would rub against you, giving you just a second of glorious friction, before pulling away. And everytime, you’d whimper pathetically, afraid to move but desperate to do so. “F-Fuck,” he exhaled, and you had a feeling all of this teasing was getting to him too. “You really want me so bad, if only you could see your face right now,” you felt his arm still, took his other hand to rub his thumb along your jaw.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, tensing your arms against the makeshift handcuffs. “I really do, Spence, I promise I’ll be good and I won’t lie and-”

“What are you doing?” You gasped, hearing Hotchner’s voice directly behind you. How long had he been standing there?

“I-Uh, and, Spence, and. Um,” you stumbled over words, unable to form coherent sentences. All of this was fucking killing you. All the teasing, all the tension, and now you were so goddamn close to release and it had just been ripped away.

“Oh, no, I already know all of that. I have ears,” Hotch laughed at your expense, which only made you blush more. “I mean, were you trying to talk your way out of a punishment? That Spencer was doing such a good job of giving you?” He sounded accusatory, and it made you feel very small.

“No! I was trying to tell him I learned my lesson,” you insisted.

“Are you talking back to me?” He sounded incredulous, and you felt nervous excitement bubble up in your chest. What was he going to do? “Stand up,” he ordered, although he did help you by grabbing your forearms and pulling you onto your feet. His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down to your ankles in one quick move. “Kick them aside,” he told you, and you obliged.

You could hear the sound of Spencer removing his pants while Hotch had one hand around the binding on your wrists, and had pulled you back against him.

“Enough with all this, now,” Hotch said, and your wrists were suddenly freed from imprisonment. He undid the wrapping around your eyes, too, making sure not to pull too much.

The room was suddenly in full view, and just as you had expected, before you was a very naked Spencer Reid. 

“Oh,” you peeped, in perverse shock. With your wrists newly freed, you wriggled a little, letting your shirt drop to the floor.

“No sense in keeping this on,” Spencer licked his lips and looked over your shoulder for a second and permission, then stepped closer and helped you pull the bralette overhead and discarded that too. His clothes had been neatly folded on the couch, while yours were strewn about the room like a lustful Jackson Pollock.

Spencer put his hands on your forearms, pulling you into him and away from Hotch, who backed up to take a seat in the large chair across the room.

“You know what? If she needs to cum so bad, and it hurts so much, why don’t we do just that,” you could tell by his tone that he was teasing you for all your sexual frustration, but it only added to it, and he was looking over your shoulder as he spoke. Then his gaze fell upon your eyes, “Maybe your brother can wear you out a little bit,” and he smiled.

Spencer needed no further instruction. He sat down on the couch and pulled you back with him, making your knees bend. It took him a second, making sure his cock was lined up, and then he pulled back on your hips and thrusted in. He held you there for a few seconds, letting you stretch and adjust to the feeling of his dick inside of you.

Your brain felt like it turned inside out. Fantasy collided so effortlessly with reality in seconds, knitting themselves together. All you could do initially was gasp at the feeling of being filled up so quickly.

His skin was slapping against yours as you eagerly bounced up and down on him, relishing the feeling of his perfectly sized cock fitting in and out, over and over. “You’re so tight,” he moaned. “So, so tight.”

Your head dropped backwards, against his shoulder, and both of his hands busied themselves by grabbing at your exposed breasts. He moaned, right in your ear, and  _ finally _ his lips found their way to your neck. Spencer didn’t bite, which didn’t come as a surprise. But he was a good kisser. He licked at your throat from the back, all the way from the dip of where neck meets shoulder up to almost the shell of your head, then blew cold air on the wet skin. 

You groaned, rolling your hips even more, rocking yourself against him in rhythm.

“Is this what you imagined?” He asked huskily. 

“Better,” you responded, whimpering as he sucked a sensitive spot on your neck that you had been previously unaware of existing.

“Look at me,” Daddy ordered, and you knew he was talking to you. Your eyes shot open and you moaned even louder than you had been - you’d always been very vocal during sex - and shuddered as you watched him running his hand up and down, tantalisingly, over his surprisingly huge dick. “Fuck her harder, Spencer. She hasn’t cum yet.”

You lost it at those words. When he felt all your muscles start seizing, he put his right hand on your clit, rubbing furiously to match the speed of his hips as they pounded mercilessly into you. Those exquisite hip bones colliding against your ass in an almost painful but absurdly pleasuring way. His handiwork only served to amplify your orgasm tenfold, you screamed, you didn’t even know what the fuck you screamed, you just knew you screamed.

Sweat glistened all over your body as you continued to be bounced, up and down, over and over, in his lap. He was relentless. Spencer’s hand pulled away for a few seconds so he could focus on pounding you as hard as seemingly possible in that angle, using his hands to get a good leverage on your hips and pulling you down onto him with every upward thrust.

“Does it still hurt?” He asked, teasing you, now rubbing your overly sensitive clit again, only this time it ached with the feeling of unyielding pleasure - the nerves not being given a chance to relax before being called upon again. The overstimulation brought about a new kind of pain that made you angry at yourself for not thinking about what all that whimpering would end up getting you.

“Yes,” you pleaded, but your body was mostly slack as he continued to fuck you with outlandish stamina.

“Tell him how good he is,” Hotchner ordered from across the room.

“Spencer, Spencer, thank you. You’re - ah - you know. Exactly. How. Oh, fuck,” he was alternating between groping your clit from the outside and massaging with his thumb, and nearing to send you over the edge yet again.

“Finish your sentences,” Daddy demanded.

“So good, Spencer, you’re so good at teaching me a lesson and punishing me and I promise I’ll, I’ll be good and I won’t lie to you ever and I won’t um look at your hips when I’m not supposed to and-”

“Alright, alright,” Spencer was laughing now, his lips against the back of your neck, and again you could feel the tickle of his hair falling on your shoulder. “Last time you came,” he punctuated the word with a pointed thrust, “I didn’t tell you to. But this time,” another thrust that had your eyes rolling back into your head. “This time, I am.”

With his words, you came again, feeling an even greater rush of endorphins combined with pain at the mercy of his pleasure, your pussy was simultaneously numb and feeling every single slight twitch of anything. You exhaled in relief when he helped you off his lap, but it was short lived. 

“Knees, on your knees,” he said quickly, his hand was wrapped around his length and pumping fast. You did as told, getting down and positioning your mouth over his cock, still slick from barebacking you. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking as hard as you could muster, and felt him finally shoot is load into your eager mouth. The taste was odd, a mixture of your own pussy and his cum, and something about it turned you on more than you’d care to admit.

When you finished Spencer off, you heard Hotch clear his throat across the room. You looked over, somewhat surprised to see him still sitting there, huge cock in hand, looking at you expectantly. Without much further thought, you got onto your hands and knees, crawling across the scratchy carpet, and planted yourself at Hotch’s feet.

“Am I still in trouble?” You asked, craving his praise, his approval.

“Yes,” he said. .

“Can I?” Your eyes flickered to where his hand was, and then back up to him. “Please?”

“No. Open your mouth,” he ordered.

You did, spreading your knees apart too and placing your palms flat on the ground. You stuck out your tongue.

He quickly started working himself off, panting and heaving. You wanted to wrap your lips around him, taste everything, take him deep down your throat despite knowing that his size would easily make you gag. But you knew he’d like it. You knew you’d like it. 

You stared at him, watching him wank, trembling with desire despite just being forced to cum twice without reprieve and a slight ache coming from your jaw after servicing Spencer.

“Oh, fuck, I-” was all the warning he gave before purposefully cumming all over your face. He avoided your eyes, although you weren’t sure if that was intentional or pure luck, but it washed over your face with warmth. To add in the degradation, Hotch took his cock after making sure he was done, and wiped whatever was left along your lips.

At this point, you didn’t even care. Without breaking eye contact with him, who was clearly watching to see how you would respond, you brought your right hand up to your face. Your index finger drew a slow line across either cheek, gathering up the liquid, and then you ran it along your mouth and slowly pushed your finger in your mouth. He watched you suck it, his face still flush from the orgasm. You heard a mumbled, “Damn,” escape his mouth.

In that fashion, you licked up most of what he left on your face, not even sure where the instinct had emerged from within you. Watching him jerk off, you’d just wanted to taste it so bad. 

Everyone remained where they were for a few minutes, regaining their breath. You finally broke the silence. “Which way is the bathroom?” 

“Down the hall, to the left,” Spencer answered.

You stood, still naked, and padded down the hallway to clean yourself up.

When you came back, both men had re-dressed, which made you feel even smaller and more vulnerable than before. “C-Can I…” You looked down at the floor, your clothes, and then back up at either of them for permission.

“I don’t see much of a point in doing that, do you Spencer?” Hotch said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not particularly,” he agreed.

“Why don’t you just pick them up and go put them by your bag, and then come back here. Finish watching the show with Spencer,” Hotch said.

“Okay,” you said, blushing at yourself. It wasn’t overly deemening, but not being allowed to have clothes on certainly reinforced both your status and the fact that this roleplaying was an all-consuming thing. You did as told, able to feel their eyes watching you bend down and pick up every single article of clothing from the floor, fold it, and quietly bring it into the bedroom.

When you came back, Spencer was laid out on the couch on his side, so tall his feet were hanging off. “Come on, you can lay here,” he gestured to the space in front of him. You climbed up, laying on your side as well. He put both arms around you and pulled you so protectively close. He pressed his lips against your temple, rubbing your back with one hand, and you forgot entirely about the stark juxtaposition of his clothed body against your nudity in favour of feeling comfort and secure in his arms, and sighed in content. In truth, if a punishment like that meant the aftercare of snuggling with Spencer, you were feeling overly optimistic about the next twenty-four hours.


End file.
